


I Woke Up Like This

by cheerynoir



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (and also a little shit), (but he can propose like a boss), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blowjobs, Communication, M/M, Realization, Robb Stark is a Gift, Robb has some questions - and Theon just wants him to wear his ring, Sleepy Cuddling, Theon couldn't top a sundae, Theon gets over his commitment issues (off-screen), everything is fluffy and nothing hurts, kisses!, look at these two losers being aesthetically in love, soft kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:03:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8429011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheerynoir/pseuds/cheerynoir
Summary: Theon's half-asleep when the thought slips through his mind and sticks.Rings. Silver or gold. A matched set, the gleam of sunlight on skin-warmed metal.It doesn’t scare him. And that scares him.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s a Tuesday in April when it hits Theon like a sucker-punch, like drunkenness after six shots of vodka. He’s half in a doze when the thought slips through his mind and _sticks_.

Rings. Silver or gold. A matched set, the gleam of sunlight on skin-warmed metal.

It doesn’t scare him. 

And that scares him.

He sits up fast, feet on the ground before he even realizes he’s moving, and blinks to himself for a second, letting the world stop swirling. The couch groans a little and he leans forward, tangling his fingers in his hair. He breathes. There’s an afghan he didn’t fall asleep under pooling his lap, and his boots aren’t on his feet, they’re under the coffee-table.

Something in his chest aches fierce and sweet, noticing this. These tiny, barely-there acts like breadcrumbs leading to—

It’s fine. He’s fine.

The apartment – _their_ apartment, since last September – is quiet. There’s a rhythmic tapping of fingers on keys. Far off, he’s dimly aware of Grey Wind padding slowly down the hall, his toe-nails going click-click-click against the scuffed hardwood. 

Robb shifts in the corner of his vision, and then that’s all Theon can look at.

His hair’s more red than brown in the watery sunlight, wild where he’s had his hands in it. A pair of dime-store cheater glasses slipping down his nose, over-sized hoodie hanging off him - unshaven, bare-foot and rumpled - and it catches Theon’s breath in his chest and twists it, harsh and fond in equal measure. And Robb squints at the screen of his laptop like that’s going to make the research easier to bear, oblivious to Theon’s sudden distraction.

“What’s up?”

Or not.

He glances up, and his eyes are terribly blue in the glare from his screen. It’s a little bit inhuman, really.

“Thought you were napping?” he goes on, because Theon’s tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth and he can’t form words to save his life. Robb’s eyes go crinkly at the corners when he smirks, a lop-sided, shit-eating thing. “You have the dumbest look on your face right now, Greyjoy.”

“Fuck off, Stark.” That, at least, he knows by rote. He’s been saying it ten years, more or less. There are little red imprints on either side of Robb’s nose, where the nose pads of his glasses have dug in.

They remind Theon of the pillow-creases on his cheek in the mornings, in the quiet moments before coffee and the general insanity that was living with the eldest Stark child came crashing in.

“I just love you a lot, okay? Shut the fuck up.”

Robb’s smirk blooms into an actual, hand-to-god grin, and his eyes go even crinklier. It’s doing terrible, awful things to Theon’s heart, which flip-flops in his chest like a landed fish.

‘Yeah?’ Robb mouths, because he’s a little shit, and Theon’s always known but god forbid anyone believe him.

“Yeah. So gimme a minute. Jesus.”

A minute drags past. Robb’s eyes are on him, inhumanly blue and patient.

Theon’s works to swallow. Licks his lips. Breathes for a second.

“Kay,” he mutters.

Robb sets his computer on the coffee table and ambles over. Theon’s fingers curls in his belt-loops and pull when he gets close enough, and then Robb is a heavy mess in his lap, pressing him back into the sofa.

His lips graze Theon’s forehead, his temple, the scar just outside his left eye. His hands are rough and warm on his shoulders, tracing patterns. Theon shivers, chews the inside of his lip.

“A lot, huh?” Robb asks. His breath is stale and damp, fanning across his cheek. Theon turns into it, looking at his mouth.

“Mm.”

“You can do better than that.” Lightly, like the nip of teeth at his jaw.

“Yeah,” rasps Theon. Heat pools low in his belly, like an afterthought. “Yeah, Robb. A lot.”

Robb chuckles, soft and low. Rewards him a little with the ghost of a kiss, until Theon clutches at his hips. Then Robb leans back and fixes him with a Look.

They don’t really talk about it, this Thing they have. The Thing where Robb calls the shots, and Theon follows. That Thing where, two weeks ago—

_“Now,” Robb mumbles against his throat, tangled together in his childhood bed. Theon could hear Sansa’s laughter through the wall on one side, and the bass throbbing through the other from Jon’s room. The walls are thin as paper._

_Full house, dinner in ten minutes, a weekend Hail-Mary from a frazzled mother to have all her children back under one roof._

_And Robb looked at him, pupils blown, so sure._

_There’s not even a lock on his bedroom door._

_“’m not going to tell you again,” Robb says, slow._

_Theon groans, hard enough to hurt, and gets on his knees._

_He gets Robb off with time to spare, but Theon can’t look the Starks in the eye, and he doesn’t look at Robb, too sure that what they were doing is scrawled across his face for anyone to see._

_He laughs too loud and talks too fast and eats too little, that night._

_Robb makes it up to him anyway._

Teeth again, sharp and sweet against his neck. 

Theon groans, going boneless. His fingers clutch tight, but Robb only licks over the mark his teeth left behind like that’ll sooth the sting.

“Where’d you go?” Robb asks, mouthing his way down Theon’s neck, the scrape of stubble and nip of teeth.

“Mm – nowhere.”

“Liar.”

Theon laughs a little and bares his throat. “You love it. C’mere.” 

They make out for a while, languid and fully-clothed.

Theon loves it and hates it and groans raggedly when Robb pins his wrists to the couch the third time he tries to get his hands under that giant fucking hoodie.

“No,” says Robb, impervious and commanding. Like he thinks Theon is just going to roll over and take it. 

Theon bucks him onto the floor with a savage grin.

The handcuffs come out after that and – well.

It’s a pretty good afternoon, really.

“Hey,” he says, after. Dusk settles like a well-worn blanket. Theon rolls his wrists slowly, though there’s no bruising, not even a red mark let behind. He rolls his wrists, and can’t get the glint of sunlight off metal out of his head.

Shadows turn the gems in his silver rings into pits. Theon twists them around his fingers, thoughtful.

“Mm,” says Robb, face smushed into the pillow, his left arm slung heavy over Theon’s belly. He mumbles wordlessly and curls closer.

The ring on his thumb slips off. Theon stares for a long minute, debating.

_Fuck it._

It fits on Robb’s finger perfectly.


	2. Chapter 2

Theon wakes up with a mouth on his dick.

It’s not his favourite way to wake up – but it’s in the Top Three and he has no complaints, so really, knock yourself out, Stark.

“Mm?” he asks, hazy, and one hand tangled in Robb’s hair, the one clenching in the sheets. He arches before he’s aware of doing it, caught somewhere between lazily stretching until his back cracks, and wanting more.

Robb lays an arm like iron across his hips to keep him pinned and swirls his tongue. Theon jerks, clawing at Robb’s hair in retaliation.

“ _Fuck_.”

Robb pulls away with a slick sound and grins at him. There’s too many teeth in that smile, but Theon just pets a hand through his curls with a smirk of his own. If Robb wants to play at wolfish, Theon’s sleepy and pliant enough to indulge him.

As if he’d be able to say no.

“What’s this then?” he asks, and his voice is a ruin. Toss up as to whether it’s sleep or sex that reduces him to a rasp but it makes Robb smirk and his eyes go dark when he hears it.

Theon counts it as a win.

“You gave me something nice,” Robb says, and mouths at Theon’s hip. His stubble scratches, but it’s far from unpleasant. “I can’t return the favor?”

“The fuck?” he asks, but there’s no heat in it.

He winces when Robb pinches the inside of his thigh – a wordless rebuke – but doesn’t apologize. Just swats at him half-heartedly and laughs at the indignant look Robb shoots his way. 

And that’s when the morning sun cuts through the half-drawn blinds and Theon could kick himself.

Because there’s a ring on Robb’s left hand, blue sapphire and sterling silver, and Theon hazily remembers putting it there, half-asleep and happy. His right thumb feels naked without the familiar weight.

He reaches for it before he can stop himself.

“Hey, I didn’t-” and he’s defensive, half-laughing, ready to brush this aside. “Whatever, give it back.”

But Robb curls his fingers tight and bites at the crease of his thigh. Theon whines softly, thumping his head back against the pillow in frustration. Blood pulses hotly under his skin.

“Nuh-uh,” Robb says, smiling a little, but his eyes are intent. “No take-backs.”

“Since when?”

“Since I said so.”

And he swallows Theon down – just to get the last word, the bastard. Theon smothers his cry with a fist between his teeth. It’s too early for noise complaints – and he really doesn’t want to give Robb the satisfaction.

“Fuck fuck – fucking hell, God—” 

But Theon’s always been good at running his mouth. The curses spill like honeyed filth and Theon can’t bring himself to give a single solitary fuck so long as Robb keeps doing that thing with his tongue.

He does.

It’s a great way to wake up.

When he’s spent and pliant, Robb relaxes the grip his hand on his hips. The pads of his fingers catch and smooth over the crescents his nails left behind, and Theon grumbles before he hauls him up.

“Sorry,” Robb mumbles into the kiss. Theon just sucks on his lower lip and figures they’re even, with the way he’d been yanking at Robb’s hair.

“Don’t worry about it,” Theon replies. Then he catches one of Robb’s legs between his own and puts him on his back. Robb squeaks. Theon laughs, because Robb’s yelp of surprise sounds like a cross between a pre-teen girl and a distressed puppy, and come on, he’s not made of stone.  


But his mirth’s short-lived, and he projects intent like he projects confidence and disdain: intensely, without thinking. Robb meets his stare head on, because the boy has never met a challenge he hasn’t dug in his heels for. It’s alright – Theon’s used to getting his way.

He makes it work.

The ring glints blue and silver on Robb’s finger and there’s something hot and desperate in caught behind Theon’s lungs. His mouth trails down Robb’s chest, and he tastes like salt and heat and a future, maybe.

“…Are we going to talk about this?” Robb asks, after, running his hands through Theon’s hair. Theon doesn’t lift his cheek from Robb’s thigh, just turns his face to mouth lazily at the stubble-burned expanse. His hands trace absent circles on Robb’s sides, tapping over his ribs like piano keys.

“Theon.”

He sighs and sits up, and Robb’s hands fall away.

“Look, it’s dumb,” he says. The look Robb shoots him is so supremely unimpressed that Theon looks away. His fingers muss his hair. “Don’t give me that look. It is.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Theon shifts away, swings his legs over the edge of the bed but doesn’t stand just yet. The door’s half-open, the hallway beyond empty. It’s nice to have an escape route.

But Robb rests his bristly chin on Theon’s shoulder. He’s a banked fire against Theon’s back.

“C’mon,” he sing-songs. “Tell me. You know you want to.”

Theon rolls his eyes but can’t help his smirk. He leans back into Robb’s heat and snorts a little when Robb relaxes. Like he thought Theon was just going to bolt.

“I don’t know,” says Theon. “I wanted to, I guess.”

“You wanted to put a ring on it?” Theon doesn’t need to look at Robb to know he’s grinning.

“Stop laughing at me. I can still take it back.”

Robb’s eyes narrow, but his smile softens. “You can try.”

Silence laps at them. Theon breathes. Shuts his eyes against the mid-morning light, and tips his head back against Robb’s freckled shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says at last. “I wanted to. It suits you- my ring, I mean.”

“Possessive,” says Robb, terribly fond. His arms curl, warm and heavy, around Theon’s middle, his legs bracketing Theon’s. Their knees bump.

“Like you aren’t.”

“True,” says Robb with a laugh. There’s a softness to him now, warm and tender. It makes Theon want to curl up small until he stops. Stops looking at him like that, stops trusting him so much – just stops.

Theon doesn’t know how to be loved. Never really got any practice with it.

“I,” he says, and stops. Never meant to say it in the first place. Robb runs a hand down his side. He hums a little, questioning.

“I guess,” Theon says. The words get caught in his throat. “I wanted. I. Fuck. I wanted. You’re my future, you know that right? If I was ever going to have a – a future, with someone. It’d be with you. And I realized that, last night. I wanted you to know. That’s all. That’s what-”

His arm twitches, gesturing towards open air, meaning: the ring.

“That’s what it was,” he finishes. Stops.

Robb doesn’t say anything. Theon stares at the far wall and tries to breathe.

“Idiot,” Robb says at last, kind of choked up. His mouth presses hard and sudden against the back of his neck. When Theon turns, there’s a hand on his jaw and a mouth against his and its hot and demanding and sloppy.

“You’re my future too,” pants Robb when they break apart.

Theon can’t help the laugh that catches in his throat. 

“That is the most romance-novel bullshit I’ve ever heard,” he says. His shoulders loosen, and Theon feels like a helium balloon spiralling endlessly up. “I – come on, Stark. I’m making pancakes.”

“Waffles,” Robb counters.

Theon grins at him. “Deal.”

It isn’t like there isn’t going to a hundred-thousand other mornings for pancakes, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, this is a Thing that happened. I wrote this in twenty minutes. I swear everything else will get updated eventually.
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr - or drop me a line here, whatever.


End file.
